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A number of you have expressed concern that I might be dealing with some personal challenge, life crisis, or health issue that has prevented me from writing my blog for over a month. I tried to put a good face on things, and to laugh off my troubles, while I struggled with the cause of a depression so crushing that I thought I might never write another funny story again. The sad truth is I recently discovered that... that... that women in their mid-twenties no longer find me attractive.

I have become virtually invisible to the kind of hard-bodied eye-candy that has inspired so much of my work over the years. Now this might not be so bad, except for the fact that I have also become invisible to women in their thirties as well. I was in the supermarket the other day, when the ideal combination of female presence and Pilates classes (about 38) brushed by me in the birth control aisle. (When the hell did supermarkets get a birth control aisle?) I gave her my patented ÔÇ£Battered Baby Harp Seal-lookÔÇØ ÔÇö and she spit in my coffee.

I was crushed but maintained a modicum of dignity right up until her mother also spit in my coffee. Those of you who follow my blog or who have read my book know I regard riding a motorcycle as the ultimate hedonistic experience. That experience spans fast bikes, fast women, and fast times. The fact that I am being dealt out of this game is having an adverse effect on my prose. The last time I went to a bikerÔÇÖs party, thrown by a couple of Harley riders I know, only one woman bothered to listen to my spiel, and only if I spoke into her ÔÇ£goodÔÇØ ear. She offered to ÔÇ£doÔÇØ her drugs with me, but these turned out to be Imodium and Digitalis.

I have been diagnosed with a new kind of joint disease. It has the same effect as arthritis but spreads throughout the body like clap. I get out of bed in the morning like the mummy sitting up in his sarcophagus. (I set my alarm clock for a good two hours before I need to take a leak.) Last week, a doctor told me I may never ride a motorcycle again.

I said to him, ÔÇ£Doctor, how will I ever have sex again if I canÔÇÖt ride a motorcycle.ÔÇØ

He looked at me and said, ÔÇ£Jack, itÔÇÖs time to face facts. No one ever got laid riding a BMW.ÔÇØ

I can barely walk on some days and that this disease is now in my hands and shoulders has me crazy. There are days when it hurts to think. All of my stories are about 98% true. I cannot imagine a time when there are no new ones, and this is slowing me down.

Few writers ever have the privilege of knowing how many people read their stuff or genuinely appreciate it. Fewer still have had readers who wanted to exhaust every option in getting a blog or a sequel to a book written faster. Your comments to this thread were like a tonic to me (though I have no gin at the moment). No one has ever flattered me as you have.

I would certainly be compelled to try my damnedest to get the most out of a computerized dictation program ÔÇö should one be awarded to me. But I want you all to know something: Writing for your folks is its own greatest reward. I was delighted to see how many of you enjoyed my new book ÔÇö Conversations With A Motorcycle. It really boosts my career when you talk this up to your friends. The bookÔÇÖs binding has a flaw, however. It turns into a swarm of dung beetles if you lend it to anyone. (Make them buy their own.)

For those who are asking, I compose on an Apple MacBook Pro that is three years old. I hate computers, and use this one because it requires no screwing around to get it to work at maximum capacity. (I have yet to see a PC that does the stuff this Apple does.) I have been a professional writer for 35 years (no other job) and type with two fingers. (People who watch me are amazed.) Still, I got all tangled up with passwords, handshakes, and trap doors when I tired to post on this thread myself. I have a Jersey City accent that shatters clay pigeons at 300 yards. Most women never get used to it.

I have asked Chris to post this note for me. Please look for a new blog shortly.
Thanks again.
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ok guys

Looks like Jack still has some humor in him and we can help him help us keep entertained instead of just sitting around the house this cold winter. I'm in for the first $20 or if no one wants to collect it, purchase it and get it to him, I'm game to do that as well. What say you guys?

We need to gift him with some voice to text software. Arthritis hurts!

Thanks, BogtheBasher, for coming up with this idea. Was just reading back through the thread and feel kind of bad that you were the one who first suggested it and I kind of ended up running away with it. My apologies, if you feel I "took over". It was very kind of you to first suggest getting him this software...

I think I may have sent my donation to the wrong PayPal account. It says the funds went to a Charles McCarthy but I see that you sign your name Chris. Let me know if I messed up and will make the correction.

Looks like it made it, great. If you come up short just drop a note and I will kick in some more.